Lyra
by Hades Lord of the Dead
Summary: An experience as a cadet at Starfleet Academy has lasting effects throughout Spock's life. Warnings for discussion of depression and suicide. COMPLETE.
1. Lyra

**AN:** This is the only chapter with such an OC focus - after this we get a lot more Kirk, McCoy and Enterprise. Not intended as a romance, but feel free to interpret as you wish. Any feedback welcome.

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Lyra**

It is a misunderstanding that introduces them or, rather, a mishearing on her part. Spock is talking to a brash young cadet of his own age, whose incessant and unintelligent questions on the subject of Spock's home planet are beginning to grate.

"Yes, there are many different musical instruments on Vulcan," he answers patiently. He has been fielding questions from this particular cadet for near an hour now, but even in the face of irritating and illogical humans, a Vulcan must not display annoyance. "I, for example, play the lyre."

"Yes?" It is another fresh-faced cadet who speaks. She sits on a table parallel to theirs and turns in her seat to face them. The Starfleet Academy canteen is crowded and, many years later, Spock considers it rather remarkable that she happened to be sitting behind them on this particular day and during this particular conversation. "Do I know you?"

Both Spock and his unwelcome companion stare, one with a tilted, questioning eyebrow and the other with a look of pure, gormless confusion.

"Sorry I- I thought- you _did_ say my name, didn't you? Lyra?"

The confusion resolves itself quickly and with much laughter on the part of the two humans. Spock does not take much interest in the resulting conversation, though he is fascinated by the persistent pink undertone of Lyra's skin. His mother was not one to blush easily and he had not quite realised that a human's embarrassment might manifest in this way. This is unimportant, he thinks, but in the years that follow he comes to alter his opinion on the matter.

* * *

The first two and a half weeks of Starfleet Academy are overwhelming. This, Spock decides, is not an emotional response. It is an immutable truth. He had expected the influx of emotion from being in close proximity to such a large contingent of humans and had worked hard to shore up his mental shields in preparation; he had _not_ expected the fervour with which these emotional Starfleet recruits would attempt to 'make friends' with him. It is, he supposes, logical. Most join Starfleet to interact with new species and civilisations, so of course they would want to befriend one of the few aliens in the Academy. Nevertheless, the constant process of befriending-cum-interrogation leaves Spock thoroughly exhausted.

The first day that he enters the canteen and no one approaches him, he confesses himself relieved. In earlier weeks, newer cadets were distinguishable from the older by their sprawling formation, but Spock sees now that they have formed into more cohesive groups. Eventually the groups will solidify and cease to mix. Spock fails to appreciate that the empty table he chooses, in a far and shadowy corner of the canteen, will become his own 'regular spot'.

"Oh, hello!"

He quells the _disappointment_ that comes when he realises the solitude he so craves is not to be granted at this time.

"I don't know if you remember me, I'm-"

"Lyra," he supplies. Where before he may have pointed out that Vulcans possess eidetic memory, he decides he does not wish to repeat a conversation he has already had with twelve humans in the last week alone. "I remember."

"Can I sit here?" she gestures to the seat across from him, raising her tray of food as though in demonstration. "I'm eating a salad."

"I do not see how that is relevant."

Another delicate, pink flush appears in her cheeks and she stammers as she did on that first day. "S- sorry, I thought- I- aren't Vulcans vegetarians?"

 _This_ takes him by surprise and he cannot prevent an incremental widening of his eyes. His eyes, so he has been told several times by tutors on Vulcan, are what most betray the human in him. "Affirmative, but I have no aversion to meat being consumed in front of me. If I were unable to come to terms with such a compromise, Starfleet would have been an unwise career path."

She laughs, though Spock cannot see anything amusing in what he has said, and sits. The pink is fading. "Sorry, I didn't think."

"On the contrary, you were thinking in some depth about my culture. Your conclusion, though incorrect, was quite logically reached." He hesitates. The sentiment he expresses next may be unwise, but as he said just now it is necessary to invoke the spirit of compromise in order to fully experience another culture. And he is, after all, half human. "I believe the human expression is, 'Thank you'?"

She blinks, so that Spock thinks at first he may have misspoken. Then she smiles, widely, and responds, 'You're welcome.'

* * *

They are not 'friends' in the way Spock believes most humans would classify it. They eat lunch together often, though not regularly, and compared to the cadets in his classes and corridor, Spock finds her presence unobtrusive. At times their conversation is even stimulating.

* * *

"Why did you join Starfleet?"

Spock has noticed that when humans wish to speak about themselves, they will often begin the conversation by asking the other person something similarly personal. He neither understands this nor wishes to discuss his controversial career choice, so simply responds, "The concept of discovering new planets and cultures intrigues me on a scientific basis." Then, because he feels this is what he should do, "Why did you join Starfleet?"

She pushes her salad around the plate. He cannot blame her; they have already discussed the unpalatable nature of the replicated canteen food. Lyra was raised on an agricultural earth colony on Slednik III, she revealed during that discussion, and is used to fresh food. Spock told her of his mother's love of fresh Vulcan produce in return.

"I keep asking myself that question." She huffs a laugh and repeats something Spock has heard many cadets, first-year and otherwise, complain, "I mean, the workload is so huge! I was up until 4AM last night finishing an essay. I'm exhausted!"

The human response would be to laugh or perhaps to reciprocate the sentiment. Spock says blandly, "Vulcans require less sleep than humans."

"Oh."

The issue of work does not arise again.

* * *

The issue of home is something that arises many times.

"Do you miss Vulcan?"

"I am incapable of that emotion."

Lyra chuckles, a little incredulous. She doesn't blush in front of him any more, which he cautiously theorises is a sign that she is more relaxed with him, thought the evidence for this theory is minimal as they have spoken less and less as term continues.

"I miss home," she admits. "When I was there I felt trapped, but now I'm here I-" Her eyes drop to another barely-eaten salad. "Sorry. You don't want to hear about that. How are your classes? You had, um... was it flight simulation today?"

Later, Spock wonders if he should have indulged her human emotion.

* * *

"On Vulcan the temperature is much higher," he informs her stiffly one day in December when she cannot help but giggle at the beanie hat perched on his head and encircling the tips of his ears. "My mother sent me the hat and I thought it was only logical to wear it, given the unusually cold weather San Francisco has been experiencing recently."

Lyra's giggle develops into a full-blown belly laugh. Spock is alarmed when her eyes begin to water with the force of the emotional outburst.

"I haven't laughed like that in a _long_ time," she hiccoughs, when the fit has finally ended. Then she sees Spock's expression of Vulcan panic and the ordeal begins again.

* * *

"It's hot on Slednik III at this time of year as well," she tells him the next day, this time wearing her own beanie along with matching gloves and scarf, as though in apology. "Not as hot as Vulcan I don't think, but we have beautiful beaches."

She talks at length about the beaches and, despite the sentimentality of her description, Spock listens attentively and does not interrupt until it is time for his next class.

* * *

"Were you home for the holidays?" He mimics the question he has heard many cadets ask one another following the winter break.

"Oh, yes."

Expressed emotions are an important part of human culture, so Spock adds, "Did you enjoy it?"

"I suppose so." She puts her chin in her hand. "Does it ever frighten you how big the universe is?"

"Vulcans are not-"

"Capable of that emotion." She doesn't smile, but her tone is understanding. "Of course not."

* * *

He helps her with a warp mechanics essay the next time he sees her.

"I've been ill recently," she explains. There are pinched, purple shadows that highlight the thinnest part of her nose's bridge, directly between her two eyes. "I fell behind, that's all."

It is no hardship to explain the lecture material to her and certainly does not warrant the fervent thank yous offered afterwards.

* * *

Their last conversation is unremarkable, in all but one detail. As they are putting their trays away, Lyra smiles.

"You are a very good friend, Mr Spock." His mental shields bend and snap beneath the sheer and palpable _euphoria_ emanating from her. He is so taken aback that he does not even think to respond to the comment of friendship. "Goodbye."

He mumbles a quick farewell, and near sprints from the canteen to meditate. Two days later, he learns that she has killed herself.

* * *

"You must be Spock." At Lyra's funeral, her father identifies Spock by his Vulcan features. Lyra's mother passed away when she was eleven years old. "Thank you for being here. I know you were a real friend to my daughter."

 _You are a very good friend, Mr Spock._

He excuses himself and leaves the funeral early.

* * *

A week later he goes to the canteen, sits across from an empty space, and listens. On the table behind him Lyra's partner on a xenolinguistics project tells her friends that Lyra always stammered and got embarrassed in classes when the teacher asked her any questions. A boy on that same table lived in the room opposite Lyra's floor, says he saw her from to time but mostly she kept to herself. Another boy, two tables away, says he met her only twice, both at parties when she was drunk and distraught. The boy next to him puts the theory forward that she may have killed herself because of the pressure of schoolwork. A different table, populated by people who have never met or spoken to Lyra, reflect on how horrible it must be to be so far from home with no friends to rely on.

Spock marvels at the human tendency to gossip. He had thought he was coming to understand such thought processes and habits, but every human he hears seems to see some logic in Lyra's suicide. The justification for it lies in the emotion - the sadness, the low self-esteem, the loneliness. Spock reaffirms that the Vulcan way must be followed in order to avoid such intense emotion, and such senseless fallout

Yet there is a flaw to this verdict that bothers Spock no matter how deeply he meditates. Perhaps emotion _is_ the flaw here, but if Spock himself had shown more human compassion to Lyra, might things have been different? He spends more time than he will ever admit wondering if it was Lyra's human emotion, or his own Vulcan coldness, which led to this outcome. By the time he graduates from Starfleet he has come no closer to a satisfactory conclusion.


	2. Priorities

**Chapter 2: Priorities**

The concept of sacrifice is drilled into every Starfleet recruit. During his first years aboard the Enterprise, Spock witnesses Captain Pike struggle to weigh the lives of crewmen against one another again and again. It is an ancient philosophy that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, but only when Jim Kirk takes on captaincy is Spock forced into a situation where the theory becomes practice.

He orders the three ensigns to evacuate the engineering deck and remains to locate the site of the phaser coolant leak. So near to the warp core, the coolant could cause a reaction that blows the entire ship apart. It is only logical that Spock stays; he is half-Vulcan. His stamina is greater than that of any human crewman and his lungs can take more breaths of the toxic gas before they fail. It is these extra breaths which give him time to locate and plug the leak. His death will be of use, he thinks as his lungs fill with poison and his muscles seize. His body will serve as a marker for the Captain and Chief Engineer Scott so they can carry out a more permanent, withstanding repair. The ship is safe. As his sight fails he thinks of Lyra. He wonders if she ever felt this peace.

* * *

He wakes, sluggish, in Sickbay. The unusual manner employed by Dr McCoy during the first blurry days of his recovery reveals how close he came to death. McCoy is a relatively recent addition to the ship, hired on the Captain's recommendation to replace the now-retired Dr Piper, and Spock has learnt quickly of his unorthodox and abrasive manner. Yet his tone when he informs Spock that his actions meant that no crewmen were killed or even injured is, Spock thinks, nearly _kind._

When he no longer struggles to draw full breaths and the fatigue in his muscles is nearly wholly gone, Captain Kirk comes to visit. He brings the Tri-D chess board from the Rec Room.

"If you're up to it?" he offers. There is a wry half smile and a lingering worry in the Captain's eyes that Spock is too tired to decipher. "I need a break before I drown in all the Engineering repair reports."

"If these reports are numerous enough that one might drown in them, then a chess game seems only logical."

Kirk smiles and takes the Vulcan-joke-equivalent as a cue to set up the board. Halfway through the game which, as usual, has gone on longer than either man anticipated, Kirk looks Spock straight on and says, "Thank you for what you did. Your actions saved the ship and the lives of everyone aboard, at great personal risk."

"The cause was sufficient."

"But it's hard, putting your life lower on the priority list than anyone else's." Kirk's tone is gentle, understanding; what he is trying to understand, Spock does not know. "You will receive an official commendation of bravery, but there's more. I want to ask if you would be interesting in filling the post of First Officer permanently."

Spock blinks. He had replaced Gary Mitchell only because no other senior officer aboard could manage two roles at once and Starfleet had yet to find a suitable replacement. The thought of entering the command stream on a long-term basis is not something that has previously occurred to him.

Kirk takes his hesitation as a refusal, and pushes on, "You are a huge asset to this ship, Mr Spock, and the events of a few days ago proved that. I won't force you to accept the position, but I would be grateful if you would at least consider it. You would be serving the Enterprise doubly well."

Spock nods, an unusually human gesture. "Then I shall certainly consider it Captain."

* * *

The next morning Kirk receives Spock's official acceptance of the post, swiftly followed by the completed Engineering reports. Spock, back in his quarters, decides that sacrifice is a rare principle shared by Vulcan and by Starfleet. He has no overt wish to die. The ease with which he accepts the possibility of his death in order to save the lives of crewmen is simply a sign that he has, in one aspect of his life, successfully grafted both elements of his heritage.

* * *

" _Bones, take care of him."_

Spock mulls over his Captain's words. His heightened Vulcan hearing easily discerns McCoy pacing in his office, the occasional muttered curse cutting across the near-silent of sickbay. Spock does not blame the doctor for what has happened, but could not help himself from snapping at the Doctor's earlier ministrations. Vulcans are a fiercely independent race and humans even more so. Every part of Spock rebels at the thought of being a burden to be fussed over.

He knows, logically, that independence is something he can regain in time - his heightened Vulcan senses already give him an advantage in adapting to his condition - but he knows too that he will never serve in deep space again. One rushed medical procedure and his life has lost all relevance to the Enterprise.

During his years at Starfleet Academy, rumours of Lyra's suicide continued to circulate. Some claimed she overdosed on medication, others that she slit her wrists. The stories invariably escalated and mutated, and Spock never knew the precise manner of her death. Regardless, it would be easier for him. He has the power to slow his metabolism, heart-rate and breathing with the same ease that he can slip into a meditative trance. It would require concentration, yes, and he would be unable to do it in the Sickbay. The monitors would pick up his falling vital signs. In theory, if he were to wait until release to his own quarters-

"Sorry Spock, can you open your eyes for me?"

Spock starts violently. He had been so deep in thought he hadn't heard McCoy's approach. The Doctor does not comment on his lack of awareness and, as he tilts Spock's head gently towards the ceiling, Spock feels _pity_ brush against his consciousness _._ Then he opens his eyes as requested and a bright, probing light bursts across his vision.

Spock blinks. Doctor McCoy's face is swimming blurrily into view. He blinks again. The face sharpens into focus. It is two inches from his own, tearstained and heavy with resignation; Spock lowers his mental shields a little further and feels, not entirely unfamiliar, _uselessness_ seep through.

"Doctor McCoy." Eyes his mother would have called 'baby blue' flicker up to meet his, glistening. They freeze in a disbelieving stare. "I believe I may have neglected to consider the existence of the Vulcan inner-eyelid."

* * *

"Mister Spock. Regaining eyesight would be an emotional experience for most. You, I presume, felt nothing?"

"Quite the contrary, Captain. I had a very strong reaction." He keeps his mental shields lowered, lets the warmth and acceptance of Jim and McCoy and the Bridge Crew wash through him. "My first sight was the face of Doctor McCoy bending over me."

He does not mention Doctor McCoy's own, very emotional, reaction to his miraculous recovery and he also does not mention that his own reaction was, oddly enough, nothing but a faint sense of disappointment. Instead he anchors himself to the reactions of those around him - "best first officer in the fleet", McCoy says - and tries his best to move on from the experience. He is useful again; he must use his life to its best purpose in helping those who were so relieved at his recovery.

* * *

"Live long and prosper, Spock."

"I shall do neither." Emotion runs rampant inside of him still and somehow this gives the words to T'Pau more weight than if they were weighed and calculated behind his usual mental shields. "I have killed my Captain and my friend."

He tells them later, when it becomes clear Jim is _not_ actually dead, that the madness of Pon Farr has passed. This transpires to be true, which he supposes is fortunate.

He wonders when the well-being of The Enterprise became so inextricably conflated with that of James Kirk.

* * *

He thinks often on the "priority list" Kirk referred to when offering him the permanent post of First Officer. During the Babel mission and all its complications, he resolves that his father's life is lower than that of his mother's, but both are lower than McCoy's (he notes with surprise) who in turn is below Jim's. Jim's stands on an equal footing to the lives of all those collectively aboard the Enterprise at any given time.

His own life, by this point, is not a consideration. McCoy puts his and his father's survival post-surgery down to "Vulcan stubbornness", but Spock can think of nothing else that could have been responsible save pure chance.

* * *

Both he and the Captain go on more planetside missions than regulation dictates, but none of the higher-ups question this on account of their repeated success. With each triumphant mission, each life-threatening risk that pays off, Spock's placement in his own ranking inches up a little higher. He has, he decides, been the benefit to the ship that Kirk had predicted. For the most part, thoughts of the "priority list" are kept at the back of his mind; the risks he takes are par for the Starfleet course, after all.

* * *

He is sure he is about to die, when the wrecked comm unit somehow manages to burst into life. Kirk is hailing his shuttlecraft. He should have predicted his Captain's stubbornness and tries in vain to dissuade him.

"Captain, I recommend you abandon the attempt. Do not risk the ship further on my behalf."

McCoy's voice is next to crackle through. "Shut up, Spock! We're rescuing you."

He almost believes himself grateful as he answers, "Why, thank you, _Captain_ McCoy."

* * *

The Platonius mission changes everything. Spock's mental controls are in complete disarray and, a very first for him, he accepts Doctor McCoy's recommendation that he skip his shift and rest in his quarters. He does not meditate.

He might have killed Jim today. The same Vulcan mass, sinew, bone density and strength that has saved the life of so many aboard the Enterprise was nearly turned against Jim. And what would have happened then?

Their five-years in deep space is nearly over. Part of him, Spock realises, had assumed he would die before that happened. It wasn't that he _wanted_ it, but statistically it was nearly a given; his risk-taking, Jim's foolhardy schemes and the nature of their work would allow him to reach no other conclusion. He had never considered what might happen _after_ the mission as he had no idea that there would _be_ an after _._ An after potentially with no Jim, no McCoy and no Enterprise; what else, then, was there?

 _Does it ever frighten you how big the universe is?_

Spock had told Lyra that Vulcans were incapable of that emotion. With his shielding gone, he realises how wrong he had been. Reflecting on the nature of the emptiness and uncertainty before him, he does not only understand her fear, but feels it fill every aspect of his being. The universe is brimming with possibility, and nothing has ever terrified Spock more.

What, really, has he achieved? He has been First Officer of a Starship which will soon be out of his command. He has saved the lives of many crewmen who will inevitably die one day. He has attempted to stay true to the ways of Vulcan whilst living amongst humans and, not only has he failed in this, but he has failed too to adopt the culture of his human half. If he had died when Lyra did, in his first year at the Academy, would things be all that different?

This hopeless feeling is familiar. He thinks back to Deneva and the solution presents itself. He smiles over widely. His mouth should still ache from laughter forced from him hours ago, but he is numb to it. He recognises this euphoric feeling, the same Lyra had emanated in their last encounter. For the very first time, he can perceive the logic behind the choice she made.

He is not in Sickbay now. There are no monitors keeping track of him and no need to wait this time. He closes his eyes and slips into something deeper than meditation.


	3. Numb

**AN:** Many references to many different episodes here, so let me know if there are any you want further depth into!

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Numb**

Uhura isn't the only one shocked when Commander Spock accedes to Dr McCoy's suggestion that he rest in his quarters. The crew on the Bridge who didn't witness Parmen's cruelty firsthand, Sulu and Chekov, eye her questioningly behind his departing back. She shakes her head - _later._

Captain Kirk suggests she takes time to recover from the events of the planet. She leaves for her quarters, but once back in uniform, goes to Nurse Chapel's room. Christine has not yet drawn together the mental wherewithal to change and sits in the lavender gown the Platonians had forced her into.

"I'm sorry I- I shouldn't be like this." Her face is scrunched in a desperate attempt to keep herself from crumbling into pieces. "They didn't even really do anything that bad. It's just- it's just _Mr Spock-!"_

Later, when Christine has calmed down, Uhura goes back to the Bridge. She stops outside Spock's quarters. What Spock suffered on Platonius was one of the worst tortures that could be inflicted on a Vulcan and she cannot shake the dread that crawls up her spine.

She rings the door chime. No response.

She lived on Vulcan once, just for a few months, staying with a girl she met at the Academy. Her name was T'Prei and, despite the veneer of Vulcan coldness, she was always very kind about Uhura's "authentic" accent.

She rings again. Still nothing. She presses the comm on the wall, patches herself through to Sickbay and rolls her shoulders in a vain attempt to cast off that creeping dread.

"McCoy here." He sounds exhausted, but Uhura has little time to care.

"Commander Spock isn't answering his door."

McCoy yawns from the other end. "Probably in one of those healing trance thingies. Just let him get to it."

Uhura hesitates. "I really think you should override the door code. I'm- I'm worried about him."

A sigh. " _Fine._ " She can nearly hear the roll of his eyes over the comm unit and she _does_ hear him grumble under his breath, "Darn Vulcan, got everyone on this ship in the palm of his hand..."

* * *

"Is a healing trance the only way in which Vulcans utilise the discipline they have over their bodies?"

"It is... not the only way. Some Vulcans have been known to use it to the reverse effect."

Uhura's eyebrow flickered. She had been living with T'Prei for a month now, long enough to have picked up some Vulcan habits. "What do you mean?"

"A clan member of my mother's, for example." T'Prei's voice dropped a decibel. "There is a certain time in the lives of Vulcan males at which their mental controls may slip. Do not ask me when," she added sharply, "But it is something understood among Vulcans. In the case of this male, his mental ability returned, but he was changed by the experience. He felt ashamed. So rather than using the discipline of his body to heal, he forced his heart to slow and passed away."

* * *

"You're saying he tried to _kill himself?"_ McCoy can barely stop himself from snapping his Data Padd in two when Uhura tells him her concerns. "Because of some- some Vulcan sensibilities?"

"I don't know anything for sure," is Uhura's careful answer. "But you said yourself - it's like a healing trance, but with the opposite effect. What the Platonians did to us was terrifying, humiliating... Can you imagine how much worse it was on a Vulcan?"

McCoy pinches the bridge of his nose, looks to where Spock is hooked up to all manner of medical machines that have kept his vital signs stable for the past few hours. "If it's a trance it'll be easy enough to wake him up. But I just- I can't believe he'd do that to us. To Jim. Maybe you're right about the mental controls, but couldn't it just be some- some side-effect from the Kironide or something?"

"Well, you're the Doctor," Uhura concedes, but it couldn't be more obvious what she really thinks.

* * *

McCoy never voices Uhura's concerns and, when he wakes, Spock agrees easily enough with the half-assembled reasoning that an overexposure to Kironide led to his collapse. Kirk questions nothing, happy to see his First Officer out of danger.

"You know he'd be lost without you," McCoy says lightly after a visit from Kirk. "So would the ship, practically. Imagine the effect your death would have."

Spock senses an undercurrent of meaning to this seeming compliment and does not reply with his own thoughts on the matter. His shields are as weak as they had been before the suicide attempt, but the mixture of anger, confusion and hurt he gets from McCoy does little at all to affect him.

* * *

It _does_ affect him when McCoy takes his place at the hands of the Vians. He is furious and, he acknowledges with only a little surprise, jealous. The feeling fades once it is clear McCoy will make a full recovery.

* * *

"It's stuck! Push the button!"

Later, Spock's calm faith in their Chief Engineer will earn him yet another commendation. "Please continue, Mister Scott."

"Don't be a fool! Push the button! It's your last chance! Don't get sentimental, push it. I'm going to die anyway."

But if Spock pushes the button, then _only_ Scott will die. Spock isn't a fool. His priorities have simply changed; Jim Kirk, safe enough on the planet below, has risen in ranking far above the Enterprise. When, Spock wonders, did that happen?

* * *

Insomnia becomes an issue. Spock lies awake and thinks of death; his, Jim's, McCoy's; thoughts of the mission drawing to an end; thoughts of what he has achieved, what he has not, what he may... As it becomes harder to fall asleep it becomes harder to wake, too. He is glad the humans he serves with would never notice the seconds of lateness that creep into his daily routine.

* * *

"You see, I feel sorrier for you than I do for him because you'll never know the things that love can drive a man to. The ecstasies, the miseries, the broken rules, the desperate chances, the glorious failures, the glorious victories. All of these things you'll never know simply because the word love isn't written into your book. Goodnight, Spock."

Spock ponders on McCoy's words. An idea forms. "Goodnight, Doctor."

"I do wish he could forget her."

Is it love that drives him to the meld? Is it duty? He only knows that doing such a thing before, without consent, would have been unthinkable - but now his highest priority is the Captain. His own life is at the bottom and, surely, his principles lie there too?

" _Forget._ "

* * *

Sevrin climbs the tree and Spock wonders absent-mindedly if he should join him.

"Come back here, you fool!"

"Sevrin, don't! You'll kill yourself!"

"Don't bite into that!"

"Stop!"

But Sevrin does not stop and all Spock can think is, _we reach._

* * *

He tells Irina later not to give up the search for Eden, that she may build it herself. Personally he lacks the energy to try.

* * *

Looking back, Spock acknowledges that he has not been more content than here, on the Enterprise. That will all end soon. Already the scientific endeavours for which he enrolled in Starfleet Academy have lost their more appealing qualities and so too have the social aspects of being aboard a starship. He increases the length of his meditations, spends hours locked in his quarters, and refuses Kirk's offers of chess.

After a month, he comes to the same conclusion Sevrin had in his last, desperate moments; if Eden exists anywhere, it is not to be found in this universe. He considers sharing his insight with the Captain, or Chief Medical Officer but, as he says when the imitation of Surak is begging for help from afar, 'A Vulcan would not cry out so.'

* * *

Lust pounds through him for Zarabeth, fury at McCoy, and it is strangely refreshing. It brings into a sharp focus how little he felt in his own time frame.

"Do you know what it is like to be alone?" Zarabeth questions. "Really alone?"

"Yes." Spock did not know any different until the Enterprise and, whether they make it back to their own timeframe or not, the Enterprise is soon to be lost to him. "I know what it is like."

* * *

"As you can see, I've returned to the present in every sense."

When did repressing emotion change to a lack of them altogether? Perhaps, Spock thinks, his mental shields did not heal after the events of Platonius. Perhaps he merely had no use of them anymore. It is the acceptance of what he iterates to the Doctor - "she is dead now. Dead and buried. Long ago." All things come to an end. It is the ultimate embodiment of _kaiidth_ to accept the universal unimportance of not only himself, but everyone he has or will ever encounter.

On an earlier mission Spock had taken Scalosian water in order to save the Captain from being trapped in a sped-up state of being. If the antidote to the water had not worked on Spock, if he had stayed permanently in that state, would it have made any true difference? Would anything?

Emotions, attachments, friends. There is no meaning to any of them.

And thus he realises, with the same apathetic numbness that pervades every aspect of his current existence, that he has finally proved a true Vulcan. Fascinating, how easy it comes.

* * *

He places a subspace call to his parents and announces his decision to leave Starfleet at the end of this mission so he may return to his home planet.

"That's wonderful news, Spock!" His mother beams at him from many light years away and he feels nothing. "Do you know what it is you wish to do here yet? Lecture, perhaps? I'm sure the VSA-"

"I wish to achieve Kolinahr."

His mother's face turns white. "What?"

Sarek, as ever, is practical. "It is a long and difficult undertaking. I imagine even more so after living among humans."

"Maintaining Vulcan control in the midst of such a situation has served only to strengthen my mental shielding," Spock lies. He has surpassed the need for such shielding. "I would be grateful if you could make the necessary arrangements as I complete the final weeks of the mission. There is no point in delay."

"As you wish," Sarek answers and does not push the matter. Kolinahr is a respectable enough pursuit. "I will have it arranged."

Amanda reaches a hand out, presses it against the viewscreen in a vain attempt to reach her son. "Spock, are you-"

The viewscreen cuts out and she feels she has lost something irretrievable.

* * *

Jim isn't surprised that Spock doesn't wish him farewell. He has noticed a change in his First Officer during the last months of the mission, and that it was a change he'd noticed in himself made it all the easier to ignore. Both of them had become more introspective, self focussed. For Kirk it was the question of 'What next?' that drew him into melancholia. Would he really be happy serving in Starfleet without a ship of his own? For Spock- well. Kirk has no idea why the change happened, only that it did.

McCoy rants for days after Spock's departure, says he has thrown their friendship well and truly out the window. Kirk nods along, smiles at appropriate moments, and hopes the guilty feeling in his chest will ease. It's easier being dragged into McCoy's anger than considering there might be something they have overlooked in all of this.


	4. Simple Feeling

**Chapter 4: Simple Feeling**

Returning to a ship full of humans reminds Spock of his first weeks at Starfleet Academy. The surprise from Mr Chekov, the joy from Captain Kirk and the begrudging warmth from Doctor McCoy all slice through his flimsy mental shields like a hot knife through butter.

"Captain, with your permission, I will now discuss these fuel equations with the Engineer."

He diverts briefly on his way to the engines, finds a deserted lab in which he can undertake the mental exercises he hasn't had need of in years. He anchors himself to that one, vital goal; to find the alien consciousness and take the final step to achieving Kolinahr.

* * *

Kirk wishes things could go back to how they were at the start of that glorious five-year command. Against all odds even Spock is here. _Spock._ God he wishes he could make the half-Vulcan's eyes alight, to get even the tiniest glimmer of emotion from him. He remembers how Spock could smile, cry and rage all with the tiniest flicker of a tapered brow, and now? He looks into those eyes and a stranger stares back.

* * *

Spock fears coming here has led to a betrayal of all he has worked to achieve. Is the familiarity of being aboard the Enterprise emotion? Or the sudden return of interest in the science of the engines? And what of his curiousity in V'ger? It is not, as he says, for the sake of purging his emotions alone that he wishes to find out more about the alien consciousness. He is curious, simply and illogically, because he is curious.

This concerning realisation is what leads him to steal the thruster suit before things might further progress. Through a mind meld with V'ger either his emotions will be purged or the power of the meld will prove too much and _he_ will be. What better ultimatum could he face?

* * *

"Known? Known what?" Kirk sees the pale eyelids slipping and a chill of fear shoots through him. He had wanted emotion, but this is unnerving. All at once Spock has gone from pure-blooded Vulcan to practically human and, despite his and McCoy's teasing, that is _not_ what Kirk has ever wanted. "Spock? What should you have known? What should you have known?"

Spock reaches, grasps Jim's arm and then his hand. This is not the careful, calculated touch of a telepath with their shields up. Spock wants the contact, desperately, and Jim feels that desperation pressing in on his own consciousness.

"This simple feeling... is beyond V'Ger's comprehension." Kirk is nearly blown away by the layers upon layers of festering emotions that lie beneath Spock's bittersweet relief. He feels the lurking, enduring fear of euthanizing numbness that threatens the happiness soaring between them and reminding what it is to _feel._ Kirk tightens his grip. "No meaning. No hope. And Jim, no answers. It's asking questions." The next words resonate between them before Spock has spoken, because they too are mired deep in his consciousness. "'Is this... all I am? Is there nothing more?'"

The silence lasts long enough for Kirk - psi-null though he may be - to send a wave of affection to Spock. But, as always, his ship needs him.

"Bridge to Captain."

With one last promise - _I will not let you down again, my friend -_ he drops Spock's hand and goes to the comm. He feels strangely bereft.

"Kirk here."

* * *

The mission ends, the universe is saved and Bones and he share a definitely-not-approved-by-regulations bottle of scotch after a job well done.

"I'm worried about Spock."

McCoy reclines in his chair, swilling his drink. They are in his office. "Can't say I blame you. Never expected to see a Vulcan cry again, and certainly not Spock. Not after all that Kolineer stuff. But he's on the mend, Jim."

"I don't think it's that simple." Kirk rubs absent-mindedly at his hand, the same one Spock had grasped earlier. "I think the problem is deeper than that. _Older._ "

"What problem?"

"Those questions he was asking Bones. What more is there, is this all there is... they were _his_ questions. Spock's."

"But he's found his answers," McCoy reminds Kirk. "He has what V'Ger doesn't have. Emotion. Feeling."

"In Sickbay I felt some of Spock's emotions. They were..." and there he falters. How can he encompass that tangled up jumble of feelings and thoughts and _history_ in words alone _?_ "I've never felt anything like it. He was happy, ecstatic even. But underneath there was this ... this _overwhelming_ fear and sadness and- and _numbness_ too. Uselessness."

McCoy looked skeptical. " _Spock_ was feeling all that?"

"Vulcans aren't emotionless," it was Kirk's turn to remind McCoy. "Their emotions are stronger than humans'. And they're telepaths. So they have shields designed to keep their emotion _in_ and everyone else's _out._ " Kirk's frown deepens. "Spock doesn't have any shields. I don't think he has for a long time."

"So are you talking about- what? Some kind of Vulcan depression?"

"I don't know. Do Vulcans even get depression?"

"I don't know either," McCoy admits, but then Uhura's words to him after the Platonius mission sharpen in his memory with a horrifying clarity and he stiffens. "There _are_ cases of Vulcans who have committed suicide though." Then, quieter, "Or attempted it."

Kirk's eyes alight sharply on McCoy's. "What?"

The Doctor sets his glass down with an air of resignation. "There's something I think I should have told you a while ago..."

* * *

Lady Amanda contacted Kirk the day after Spock's abrupt departure, and told him what her son was planning.

"Kolinahr?" he rolled the unfamiliar Vulcan word around his mouth, but it still meant nothing. "What is that?"

"It's a complete purging of all emotion. It takes years to achieve, years in which those at Gol have no contact with anything or anyone from their past. Only the most disciplined of Vulcans pursue it. Once he begins there can be no stopping him."

Kirk's chest became hollow. "I see."

"Jim, you must speak to him," Amanda urged. "When he talked to us he was... _different._ Even on a screen I can see it, he's-"

"There's nothing I can do." Kirk is not in the habit of cutting people off, particularly not the important wives of Vulcan diplomats, but he knew that if he didn't stop the call soon he would fall apart. "Spock did not consult me on his decision or even say goodbye. I think that makes it clear he doesn't want my input in this matter."

Amanda's eyes blazed with fury. "You're saying you haven't noticed how he's changed? You, his greatest friend?"

"I'm sorry," he offered lamely and cut the call.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Jim. I never thought there was any truth to what Uhura was saying. Or maybe I did and I didn't want to believe it. I mean, _Spock?_ He was always so- so together!" McCoy bows his head in shame, taking Kirk's contemplative silence for anger. "But I let you down. I let _him_ down."

"I think we all did, Bones."

 _You're saying you haven't noticed how he's changed? You, his greatest friend?_

There's no point regretting the past; he made a promise to Spock which he intends to keep.


	5. Perspective

**Chapter 5: Perspective**

It is the morning before Spock is due to be released from Sickbay and all his scans and readings show as normal, (a minor miracle after the enormous shock to his system from the meld with V'ger). Kirk stands outside the durasteel doors, shoulders squared.

He is a man of action. Hardworking, decisive, intuitive. He has made the toughest of calls in the smallest of split seconds, surviving and succeeding and escaping in the narrowest of margins. It has not always been easy, but he has never shirked his duty. He is also a man of words. He has always loved books and he would defuse a situation with diplomacy over a phaser any day. Conversation is one of his dearest loves, whether with strangers, crewmen or his friends. Quiet, late night discussions over a game of chess or a glass of Scotch off-duty are among his most treasured memories.

Why, then, is he so very frightened of this particular conversation?

"Jim." After what felt so long of 'Captain' and 'Sir', warmth blossoms in Kirk's chest at Spock's informal greeting. Spock is sat up in bed and leans forward an inch in the Vulcan equivalent of enthusiasm. "Am I to be cleared for duty earlier than expected?"

"Yeah right!" On the other side of the room McCoy is taking stock of his medical supplies. "You've had your brains scrambled by a super-machine, you're not leaving until tomorrow."

Spock quirks a challenging eyebrow. The ensuing exchange is so familiar that Kirk aches.

"It is illogical to keep me here when neurological scans show I am functioning adequately."

"Seems illogical to mind-meld with an unknown alien consciousness." McCoy grins wickedly, abandoning the stock take to draw closer. "But we're all of us human, aren't we?"

"Are you here for a particular reason, Jim?" Spock's change of subject is the closest to a defeat he will ever permit himself to come. "I would not be adverse to a game of chess."

The offer is tantalising. To slip back into old ways and forget the not-quite-meld and the interim of separation. But Kirk is not going to make the same mistake twice. He takes a deep breath and, as with anything else that has frightened the life out of him, he faces it head on.

* * *

It has never occurred to Spock what Jim or McCoy would think, although it had always seemed important that they not find out. Now as Kirk talks, eyes kind and voice soothing with an unusually anxious McCoy hovering awkwardly in the background, Spock begins to consider whether he wants either of them involved.

"I don't- I don't have a script or anything, Spock. I just- we-" Kirk glances to McCoy, having reached the end of his speech and running out of steam. "-we thought maybe you wanted the space. To talk. Because we- we know now, what you've been feeling. I felt it when you held my hand, after V'Ger."

Spock's eyes slide between the two of them in a slow and calculating silence, having clocked the tag-team approach to this assault. No, he decides, he does not wish them to know this part of him.

"I did want to communicate at the time of the meld, but it is no longer necessary."

"A week ago you thought all emotion unnecessary," McCoy comments drily. "Something doesn't have to be necessary to be important."

"Your logic-"

"Let's just... leave logic out of it?" It is what McCoy would have demanded during their five-year mission, what that would have led to a heated debate on the bridge; logic versus emotion with Kirk refereeing in the middle. His words now are quiet and sincere. "Just talk, Spock. About anything you want."

Spock considers lying. Running way. But then he has tried all that before. Perhaps McCoy's is the only option remaining.

"When I was at Starfleet Academy, I was first presented with the concept of suicide," he begins abruptly. "Such a thing is unheard of on Vulcan." McCoy makes a soft _hm_ of disapproval in the back of his throat, but Spock ignores this. "An acquaintance of mine killed herself." A soft gasp of shock from Kirk which Spock also ignores. "At the time, I was puzzled at the logic behind the action. Then I joined the Enterprise and I began to see certain cases in which suicide, or some equivalent of it, might serve a purpose. For the sake of the ship the concept of sacrifice, at least, was logical. Do you recall the phaser coolant leak in the first year of our mission that resulted in my permanent promotion to First Officer?"

Kirk nods, face carefully impassive. "I told you I understood how hard it was to put yourself at the bottom of the priority list."

"I cannot conceive of any reason why my own existence would not rank lowest in such a priority list."

Fascinating, the effect words can have. Before him both McCoy and Kirk seem almost physically affected by what he has said, wincing before they can stop themselves. Part of him considers stopping there, but another part is curious to see how else they will react.

"Then, following the events on the planet Platonius, I reasoned that my existence was not as beneficial as I had previously believed. I forced my metabolism and heart-rate to slow."

The statement is simple and analytical; a basic outline of the event and the motive behind it. Yet Kirk's jaw and fists clench and McCoy swears under his breath, the soft curse filled with anguish. That same desire from the start of the conversation returns and Spock wishes they did not know what he has just told them.

"It is irrelevant now."

"That's a load of baloney Spock!" McCoy finally explodes. Spock had wondered how long it would take. "I get that it's hard. Vulcan or human this kind of thing is never going to be easy. But this is- it's important. _You're_ important. Not because of your value to the ship or- or whatever! Because you're our friend." At Spock's wide-eyed stare, he adds, "Yes, friend, you stinking hobgoblin. What, you hadn't figured it out yet?"

Spock bows his head towards his lap and emits a very un-Vulcan sigh.

"My human half is susceptible to things that no Vulcan should be. I have tried my entire life to know myself and to merge the two sides of my heritage. Evidently, I have failed."

Kirk reaches instinctively for Spock's hand, but - perhaps remembering his weakened shields - diverts halfway to grasp a shoulder instead. On Spock's other side McCoy mimics the movement.

"This isn't a question of failure or success. If anything, we've failed you." Kirk looks to McCoy who grips Spock a little tighter in agreement. "We used your Vulcan nature as an excuse to overlook what you were going through, to assume everything was okay. But just as you wouldn't judge my reactions or personality or anything else on the basis of my species, we should never have done the same to you. You're not just Vulcan, or human, or a- a hybrid. You're just... you."

"That is-"

"Obvious, I know."

Beneath their hands Spock's back tenses, perhaps in some approximation of a laugh. "I was going to say, that is not particularly reassuring."

"Oh Spock..." Kirk does not want to embarrass his friend, so he doesn't follow that thought through. "Look, do you trust me?"

Spock's head swings upward, the half-Vulcan veritably bristling at the implication of the question. "Of course."

"Then believe me, as your Captain and your friend, when I say that you are one of the best people - human, Vulcan or otherwise - who I have ever had the pleasure to meet."

"Seconded," McCoy pipes in. "Although if you tell anyone outside this room you're a dead man. As for Vulcan or human or the rest of it, it doesn't matter. Sometimes there isn't a reason. Sometimes... well, sometimes shit happens."

Spock's face swivels to McCoy with a minute shift in his expression. "One of your human sayings?"

"I'm not surprised your mother never taught it to you."

"Indeed. There is a close Vulcan equivalent, however. _Kaiidth_ \- what is, is."

"The human is better." McCoy's smile does not reach his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Spock. I should have seen what was happening."

"There is no need for apology. I was never... happier," he stumbles over the word, "than aboard the Enterprise. After Platonius..." He clears his throat in a very un-Spock-like manner. "I lack the adequate vocabulary to explain."

"Just try, Spock. If you were happy on The Enterprise, then why..?" Kirk clears his own throat and smiles ruefully. "Sorry. I'm not used to talking about this either but maybe it's best to be blunt. Why try and kill yourself?"

 _Kill yourself._ The words have been rattling loose in Spock for some time, but now they lodge themselves somewhere deep and permanent, somewhere he had not known existed. This, he supposes, is perspective.

"My life being of less value is not- or was not always linked to anything more than the Vulcan concept that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. I excelled aboard the Enterprise and knew my own value. At Deneva, when my ability to protect lives was hindered by my loss of sight, to end my life seemed... Logical."

"Deneva?! You mean to say you tried-?"

"I thought about it only," Spock forestalls McCoy's incredulous query. "Without my sight I had nothing to offer The Enterprise. There was no alternative."

"What about the VSA? Teaching?" McCoy presses. "There's a universe full of alternatives!"

"I did not have long to consider my options," Spock admits. "I planned to wait until I could return to my quarters, but as you both know my sight returned. Platonius was the first true attempt."

"And why Platonius?"

"I nearly killed you," Spock answers Kirk simply. "I had spent what I considered the best period of my life dedicated to ensuring the safety and success of the ship, but in one moment you could have been killed. What use, then, was I?"

"But that wasn't your fault!" McCoy exclaims.

"And I wasn't killed," Kirk adds, a little more gentle. "You've saved my life a hundred times over, Spock."

"Our mission was drawing to a close and, with it, my purpose. Why live without purpose?"

Spock pauses to look between them both and gauge their reactions. They are each troubled, blue and hazel eyes alike dark with worry, but still they wait patiently to hear more. With a deep breath, he pushes on,

"Obviously the attempt failed, but things ceased to impact me the same way they had. I am affected by emotion now, curiousity and- and friendship. Towards the end of our 5-year mission I felt... nothing. I had no need even for Vulcan control. My decision to pursue Kolinhar was a logical next step, or so it seemed. As I examine my actions now I find my past reasoning lacking."

"Really? Your reasoning?" McCoy cannot help but jibe, but Spock feels a wave of subdued sadness echoing through the twin touches at his back.

"I did not intend to upset you."

"Spock you don't have to-"

"This isn't about-"

"Nonetheless," he interrupts firmly, sitting a little straighter as he takes strength from their presence. "I did not consider the impact of my actions."

"You can't always help that when you're struggling to communicate." McCoy's words may be kind, but his tone is as blunt and no nonsense as ever. Spock finds it oddly reassuring. "But we're here now. To listen or support you or- well. Whatever you need."

"Even if you don't know what you need." Spock is struck by the power of human intuition, for that had been the exact worry which had sprung to his mind. Kirk smiles at his faint look of surprise. "We'll muddle through."

"Almost like running a starship," McCoy chimes in with a grin, and a ripple of amusement flows into Spock. He is seized by an idea and, with a glint in his eye that his two friends have sorely missed, he announces in a grave tone,

"I agree, we will find a way to proceed. Mistakes are likely, but that is unimportant. As Dr McCoy wisely quoted earlier - "Shit happens.""

There is an eruption of laughter. McCoy actually falls off his chair, and Kirk stays on his only through utilising Spock's shoulder as an anchor to keep him upright. Spock absorbs the happiness radiating within the room readily.

It is only a first step, of course. But, as first missions go, Spock believes it can be classed as a resounding success.

* * *

It is a long process and one that is never entirely complete. Having spent so much of his life in desperate search of meaning, it is disconcerting to force himself to focus on the present and 'live in the moment.' There are good days and bad days, but even the worst are weathered easier with the assistance of a friend. He is even able to advise Jim on his own life and career choices as he tells him:

"Commanding a starship is your first, best destiny. Anything else is a waste of material."

It is, admittedly, easier to have faith in his friends than in himself; but that is not so hard a compromise to come to terms with.


	6. Epilogue

**Chapter 6: Epilogue**

"It wasn't suicide, Jim. It was..." McCoy casts about for the right word. "It was a sacrifice. He never would have done it if there was another way."

Absentmindedly Kirk runs a finger down the spine of _A Tale of Two Cities_. "Sacrifice, suicide... it was interchangeable to him. That's what he said the first time we spoke about it, remember? He didn't think his life was important. We _made_ him think he wasn't valued."

McCoy understands what Jim is saying, but there is a strange spark of _something_ inside that refuses to accept it. "Any one of us would have done the same. We just weren't smart enough to figure out how."

"He wanted to die."

"I don't believe that."

"We failed him, Bones!" The book shakes where Kirk grips it. "Can't you see that?"

The spark flares to an inferno in the pit of McCoy's stomach and he hardly knows why but he is up on his feet, shaking his head vehemently and near-shouting, "No one failed anyone! If you asked him, he'd tell you that!"

Kirk smiles up at him humourlessly. "If only I could ask him."

McCoy deflates. "Jim, I didn't mean-"

"No, I know." Kirk sighs and sets the book aside, standing to go pour them both a drink. "You're entitled to your opinion. I don't know how you can be so sure of yourself, but I'm- I'm glad you are. I wish I could be."

McCoy doesn't know what it is that makes him so certain that Spock did not want to die, that he would have chosen any alternative over leaving his friends. He has felt anger before, of course he has, but this spark in him feels different. New. _Alien._

Kirk hands him a glass and he pushes that thought away. There will be time to think on it later. For now he has a duty to his Captain and to his friend; together, they grieve.


End file.
